


One More Chance V

by DancingHare



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 06:04:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13428381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingHare/pseuds/DancingHare
Summary: Vassanta seeks her mentor's advice.





	One More Chance V

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published June 30, 2008

She found him near the bonfires, his great arms folded across his chest as he watched the revelers. He had different armor from when she had seen him last; the silvery-white metal gleamed brightly in the light. Now he truly looked like a Vindicator, and her courage wavered.

“Ah, hello Vassanta,” he said jovially, beckoning her over. “Are you enjoying the festival?”

She forced a smile. “I am,” she answered, turning to watch a young human man as he unsteadily tossed the lit torches. Judging by the intensity with which he practiced, Vassanta was certain that he would master them soon. She took a wavering breath and went on. “There was something I wanted to speak to you about,” she said, avoiding his curious gaze.

He nodded solemnly, his expression impassive. She could not tell whether he was angry or disappointed or something else; his features betrayed nothing. “Very well,” Kestaan said after a pause. “We will speak in private.”

Perhaps he did suspect, Vassanta thought. She was grateful for his suggestion to go elsewhere to talk, but she felt like a prisoner going to her execution as she followed him through the winding streets.

“It’s all right to go to the festival, isn’t it?” Vassanta couldn’t help asking it, his silence was slowly un-nerving her.

The elder male tipped his head curiously, though he kept walking. “I should say so. It tests skill, it provides a distraction from the worries that plague this land… why do you ask?”

Vassanta frowned. “My sister said it was immoral. All of the dancing and drinking and naked flame spirits,” she explained hurriedly, feeling a little foolish. If the Vindicator said it was all right, why should Vajarra have a problem with it?

He took a moment to answer. “While I do not approve of drinking, I am curious as to how they managed to find those braziers.”

Her heart sank again. “So it is immoral?”

“The dancing flame illusion? To a degree. But I would think of it… as a relic of our past. Not exactly a morally righteous one, but a relic, regardless.” They had stopped at a small house along the canal, and the Vindicator gestured to the door.

Vassanta blinked at it. She didn’t think that he lived here in the city, but perhaps he did. She didn’t question him though, stepping up onto the wooden porch and pushing the door open.

He settled into the small wooden chair across from her. “Now, what is troubling you?”

There was no sense in hiding it or lying now. He would find out sooner or later, and the worry weighed on her more heavily each day. She wanted to be rid of it, whatever the outcome might be. “I… I made a mistake,” Vassanta stammered, feeling her ears darken with embarassment.

Kestaan’s expression did not change. But not did he speak, and Vassanta felt she had to fill the silence that hung in the air.

“I met someone in the tavern and I brought him back to the inn,” she murmured, her gaze dropping as she felt the weight of his gaze upon her. “I know it was a mistake, I want to make up for it–”

The elder draenei held up a hand, and she stopped abruptly, blinking at him. “I can guess the nature of this “mistake”,” he said firmly. “There is no need to elaborate. Though we strive for the Light, not a one of us is perfect.” Vassanta lifted her gaze hopefully. “Still, you must make amends for your transgression,” he continued, stroking his tendrils, his brow furrowed in thought. “A pilgrimage, perhaps.”

Vassanta looked at him dumbly. “A pilgrimage? To where?”

“That is between you and the naaru, my dear,” Kestaan said, a faint smile crossing his features. “But you must ensure that it does not happen again. You must remember your task, and not give in to his advances… or your urges.”

She nodded obediently. “Anything,” she said quietly, yet a question nagged at her. She could scarcely believe her good fortune that he had not dismissed her outright, he hadn’t scolded her or condemned her as she surely felt that she deserved. She should have just nodded and went on her way, but she had to know.

Perhaps he saw the uncertainty on her face, for he went on. “Should you share feelings for him, of course, I would not restrict you from an honest relationship. Love is a beacon of hope in our troubled times. But you must not allow it to interfere with your duties.”

Vassanta flushed darkly. “No — I mean, he’s just a friend,”

The Vindicator chuckled, shaking his head. She was struck by how like her father he looked in that moment, and a clench of longing seized her heart. She wanted to run to him, for him to hold her in his arms and tell her everything would be fine. But he wasn’t her father, and she was uncertain how he’d react. Instead she rose somewhat stiffly and saluted the Vindicator.

“Thanks for not giving up on me,” she said, bowing to him quickly before she hurried out into the street. She felt relieved, but no less confused for their talk. Did she have feelings for the elf? She was far too wary to fall for any of his smooth talk and yet… he had treated her like a lady, not the soldier that she was. He’d insisted on buying her an expensive dress from that woman at the festival, in spite of her protests. And he’d said she looked beautiful.

She shook her head, frowning. It was a bad idea all around. She would be going to Draenor soon, and chances were good that she might not return. She couldn’t let herself get distracted by something so trivial, not when her dream was so close. She’d just have to tell him that she wasn’t interested. Next time, she vowed.


End file.
